oh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise
by clarembees
Summary: i don't have a choice/but i'd still choose you – even with seth's foot on edge's neck and deadly intent swirling in his chocolate eyes, brie knew nothing had changed; she still loved him


_a/n: tonight's raw was so inspiring – well, the cutting edge peep show segment with seth rollins was so inspiring. just when i thought bellins mode couldn't get more angsty, seth made himself the greatest heel, and got john cena to bring back the authority, and i couldn't handle it. so i had to write something, and this is what i wrote. hopefully it doesn't suck since it was so spur of the moment, and i haven't written anything in what feels like a million years._

* * *

><p><strong>~*~oh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise~*~<strong>

Brie felt, literally, frozen as she watched the scene on The Cutting Edge Peep Show unfold backstage. Her bones were seizing beneath her skin and she could feel her joints locking, as though a sheet of ice was engulfing her body. Her heart, somehow, lodged itself in her throat while simultaneously dropping to the soles of her feet.

**"THIS MAN IS A HUSBAND"** So harsh and bitter, spat out of those same lips that whispered her name in reverence as he cradled her face with tender hands.

**"THIS MAN,"** Louder and angry, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. **"IS A FATHER!"**

"Brie..." Pitied and disappointed, she doesn't have to turn to know who is behind her. Whose hand is touching her shoulder, gently, drawing smooth circles on her icy skin. "Brie..." Just a little louder, but all she _really_ hears is, **"AND IF YOU DON'T GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, JOHN, HE MIGHT NOT EVER LAY WITH THAT LITTLE CHILD AGAIN!"**

Her vision is blurred by tears because how _many times_ had he mentioned their own children? How many nights – before _and_ after their lives had changed forever – had he whispered about a little girl who longed for two-toned pigtails so she matched daddy or a little boy wanting a mini electric car to race so mommy would be proud that he cared about the environment? Always teasing about how their little girl would have him wrapped around her finger in an instant? Or how their little boy would be her little mini-me helping with the composting and wanting to plant trees everywhere they went?

"Brie..." A touch of desperation but mostly disappointment, and with tear filled eyes, she looked into Daniel's clear blue eyes and with her shoulders shaking, told him, in the smallest voice, "You don't want to watch this. You should go. John isn't going to rush into the ring. He's going to bring back The Authority. Even though, he should know it's not going to matter. Seth is still going to go after Edge."

"You're in love with him," Daniel's voice was as sad as the poor attempt at a smile on his lips. "And if you love him, there _has_ to be something redeeming about him. Your heart is too big and too pure to love someone who doesn't have _at least_ a shred of good inside of them."

Brie feels sick; her stomach is churning and churning, and there's the bitter and sour taste of bile coating her tongue. She has to turn away from Daniel, she can't handle him looking at her so earnestly, as though she has the kind of power to make Seth a better man. If she had that kind of power, he wouldn't be standing in the middle of the ring with his foot on Edge's neck and deadly intent swirling in his chocolate eyes.

"Brie..." Daniel tries again, but Brie didn't turn back. She just stared, blankly, at the screen as John took off his hat and then slowly slipped off his shirt. She fought the urge to scoff. She knew betteer. She knew John wasn't going to be putting on his cape and jumping into the ring to save Edge.

"You _really_ should go." Her voice is listless and dull, even to her own ears, so she can only imagine what Daniel hears. "This is the last thing you want to see. You were so happy when Dolph pinned Seth at Survivor Series and put The Authority out of power, but John's about to bring them back."

"John..."

"John," Brie spat his name out bitterly, her shoulders shaking, as she whirled to face the heavily bearded wrestler. "Is an idiot who believes that Seth is just going to walk away with The Big Show and Jamie and Joey flanking him, like a conquering hero because he got The Authority to come back. John doesn't know Seth. I do." The bitterness is gone, a forlorn tone replacing it. "I know him better than anyone, and he's not just going to walk away."

"You love him." Daniel's tone is resolute, and Brie wants to shake him, because how can he not understand? It doesn't matter that she loves Seth. If loving him mattered, he would've never let her quit at Payback to prove that she would stand by him always. If loving him meant anything, he would've never taken steal chairs to the backs of his brothers.

"I don't have a choice." The words are heavy on her tongue, like an albatross or a cross to bear, but ultimately they're drowned out by, **"WHAT DID YOU SAY, JOHN?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?! NO, NO I WANT EVERYONE TO HEAR THIS! GET HIM A MIC! GET HIM A MIC!"**

Brie's eyes close of their own accord, shut tight, as if not seeing what is about to unfold will make it like a nightmare. Something that will disappear once she opens her eyes, and somehow she will be back in her bed at the hotel, tangled in sheets dreaming of full lips searing her skin, of her fingers tracing the line of tattoos down hard back muscles that bulk and flex under smooth tanned skin and her name being panted in that raspy tone that sends her spiraling into nothing but heat and her heart beating to his name "sethsethsethseth"

Except she knows this _isn't_ a nightmare, it's real. So real her whole body aches. Her already fragile heart is hanging by a thread, ready to crash into thousands of broken pieces. Pieces that will become jagged and claw into her skin, bringing with them the pain of being pierced by thousands of needles all at once.

And through a haze, Brie hears, John's defeated tone, "I bring back The Authority."

His broad shoulders are slumped and his head is hanging low, and every nerve ending in Brie's body is screaming at her to run head first into all of this because she knows what's coming next. She knows John thinks this is over, that Seth will gleefully accept his prize and he'll be left to face the wrath of the crowd; no longer the hero they believe him to be, but a joke.

Except this isn't over. Seth won't be climbing on Big Show's shoulders, Money In The Bank briefcase held high, full lips stretched into a conquering smile. No, he's going to go through with curb stomping Edge and like he said it will be on John's conscious forever. But he's wrong, it won't _just_ be on John's conscious, it will be on her own, too, won't it? Because if she could just move, _maybe_... Except she can't move, not even a finger. She's back to feeling frozen, covered in a sheen of ice, her bones literally freezing underneath her skin and her joints locking once again.

And it's because she knows the truth; she isn't powerful enough to stop Seth, no matter what Daniel believes.

* * *

><p><strong>"BUT DAMN, YOU GOTTA KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT, I'M GONNA KILL HIM ANYWAY."<strong>

Every syllable feels like the punch from Nikki that she never saw coming. The needles start digging and pricking her skin just as the final thread her heart was being held by snaps while Seth is rebounding off of the ropes. John quickly scrambles into the ring, fending off the curb stomp and Edge wisely rolls out of the ring, but in the end it's John himself who gets curb stomped.

He's just there in a heap, laying flat, on the canvas; looking as lifeless as she feels.

She doesn't know how she's standing, her legs feel like jello, and she just wants to fall, but she can't because suddenly Nikki's barrelling into her, arms wrapping around her tight. Her sister's happy hollers don't reach her ears. It all sounds like white noise. As if she's under water and her ears are clogged and her vision is blurred.

"Seth did it!" Nikki shrieks happily. "Now, let's see Nattie try and take the title off me." Her tone is cocky and her brown eyes are sparkling deviously. "With Steph back, Nattie better _hope and pray_ she doesn't end up as my personal assistant. She'll be my little Nattie-bitch, and she can watch from the sidelines while TJ valets for me and is ringside for all my matches. Oh my God, Brie, can you _imagine_ the look on her face?"

"It'll be priceless." Brie's tone is less than enthused, but the fake smile on her face is enough to fool Nikki apparently who crows, "I know right?! We should _definitely_ ask Steph for a 2 on 1 handicap match with Nattie on Main Event. We won't even have to wait for Smackdown since she and Hunter are running things again. And oh my God, Brie, she'll be so happy that we're back together and on the same page again."

"I'm sure." Brie scoffed, rolling her eyes. "She _hates_ me, Nicole. I slapped her in front of millions of people and got her arrested. I doubt she'll be welcoming me back with open arms."

"You never know." A shiver unfurls along Brie's spine, so tantalizing, it's like his fingers are _actually_ tracing every vertebrae. "Stranger things have happened." He's smirking, she can tell without even looking over her shoulder. "I mean who would've ever thought _John Cena_, of all people, would bring back The Authority?"

"You did." Nikki's tone is sultry and approving, and Brie wants to drag her sister away, because she doesn't want to see him right now. Of course that's a lie. She wants to see him always. She doubts a day will ever come when she doesn't want to see him.

* * *

><p>And there's his fingers, so warm, curling around her wrist and tugging just so. There's the smell of him; jasmine and cedar intensified because he's so close, <em>practically<em> pressed against her. She can smell the warm amber from his shampoo, his hair slowly drying, because droplets of water hit her skin. It'll be getting fluffy – the way it does when it air dries – and she fights the urge to tease. To turn and dive her fingers into the messy strands, taunting, as her eyes gleam, "You look like Kevin just got blow dried."

And then he would shake his head, splattering her with what water remained clinging to his hair while she shrieked and tried to run. But he would catch her and then she'd be pinned between him and a wall in the arena's hallway, and he'd whisper her name, "Brianna," and she would melt.

"Brianna..." Just her name falling off those lips, in that raspy tone, and she wants to rear back with all the strength she can muster and slap him, but without fail, she's melting; her resolve crumbling and it's pathetic, really.

So pathetic.

And there was Daniel thinking she was powerful enough – _with her too big and too pure heart_ – to change the man in front of her.

But he was wrong. So wrong.

She was weak. Oh, so weak. Unable to resist that voice, those chocolate eyes, elegant fingers curling around her wrist, the smell of jasmine and cedar, headiness of amber and just the mere thought of having that body – so lean and toned, perfectly proportioned – pressed against her, would send her spiraling into a need only he could cure.

But the cold, bitter truth that Brie had to face was that she didn't want Seth to change. If he changed, he wouldn't be the man she loved. Because if she had been honest with herself, in the aftermath, of his betrayal, she would've admitted she had known _long before_ Hunter had ever enticed him, something like taking steel chairs to the backs of Dean and Roman could happen.

He had whispered his hopes and dreams, sounding like the little boy who admired Shawn Michaels back in Davenport, Iowa who would stare at his bedroom ceiling, wishing to main event WrestleMania. He had breathed, against her shoulder, as sweat cooled on her skin while he traced the wings just above her hip bones about having the WWE Championship. His lips had curved, smirking, as he laid a trail of kisses along the hollow between her breasts, about how when he held the WWE World Heavy Weight Championship, she could hold the Diva's Championship at the same time. They could walk out hand-in-hand.

Then as he traced his tongue over her folds, her fingers digging into those wonderfully toned shoulders, he said he'd love being the one to take the butterfly belt from her waist. Especially if the heavy silver adornment was the _only_ thing on her body.

* * *

><p>"I <em>should<em> hate you." Broken and hollow, and then there's his hand – so tender and gentle – cradling her face, making her look without even tilting her head, just from touch alone. "But you don't." Not smug and superior, so honest it hurts.

"It should be _so easy_ to hate you." A defeated, non-fierce growl leaves trembling lips. "Millions of people who don't even know you, who have never even said a word to you, hate you. Why can't _I_ hate you? Why is it _so impossible_ for me to hate you? Even after _everything_ you've done?"

"Because you love me." So simple and so true. Said in the same way he talked about their imaginary children. So warm the words curl around her heart, like vines, encasing the muscle in each and every syllable, and she can't deny the truth that's been laid bare.

"This is a fight you can't win, Brianna." Cocky with that infuriating smirk curling at his [damned] kissable lips. "But more importantly," Husky and slow like honey being drizzled over her skin. "This is the only fight I'd ever want you to lose."

"It's not even a fight." Sardonic laughter chokes out, and his nose scrunches, making the bump more prominent and she resists the urge to tap it. "In a fight, you always have a chance."

"Then stop fighting." Wonderfully warm and urging, making her body tingle.

And for the first time in months, she finally stops fighting. She lets her body melt and just go boneless against the lean muscles of his wiry frame, and she doesn't know how it's possible, but it's like coming home. Her head falls perfectly into the space where his neck meets his shoulder, and she's breathing in jasmine and cedar. Her arms wrap around his trim waist, fingers of one hand inching upward to trail along the familiar line of Chinese characters that go down his spine.

His name breathless, "Seth," against the deep tan of his shoulder. Hers, "Brianna," raspy and reverent amongst the strands of her hair.

* * *

><p>Later his hands are touching her everywhere, treating her as though she's a precious jewel, too precious even for his hands. His palms squeeze and cup her breasts, fingers spread over her nipples, pinching and then soothing. His teeth rake over her shoulder blades, bite at the inside of her thighs, tongue swirling around her belly button and tracing the outline of the wings just above her hip bones.<p>

His beard – rough – scrapes along the length of her legs.

Then his lips close over the very heat of her, tongue briefly dipping, to taste and savor.

And finally he's inside of her; where she's been desperate to have him, and it's over faster than either wants, but they're there in a tangle of sheets, like these months apart never existed.

His voice is nothing more than a ragged whisper against sweaty skin as he murmurs, "You're getting that damned butterfly, and I'm gonna be the only one who gets to take it off you."

She laughs, fingers sifting through slightly damp strands, "You're cashing in on Lesnar first."


End file.
